


Shards of Bone and Scattered Sand

by Araconos



Category: Naruto, Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Chakra is bullshit, F/F, Kimimaro loves his sister, Snarky Gaara, So much that its scary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:35:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8560033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araconos/pseuds/Araconos
Summary: Taylor triggers with a power that seems monumentally useless, until a lovely little voice in her head teaches her exactly how powerful it can be. Amy always knew that her adoptive mother hated her because her father was a villain, but she was never quite sure who it was.Then her twin brother triggers with the power to shape bone from his body, and it kind of removes all doubt.Or, the Simurgh plays a little bit of cross-dimensional mix-up, and the world is monumentally unprepared for the results.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Worm is property of Wildbow, glorious and wonderful a writer the world has rarely seen.
> 
> Naruto is property of Kishimoto, who was a decent writer at first and later on relied on acid trips for inspiration.
> 
> I barely own my car.

The Simurgh was... bored.

 

As much as a non-feeling, specifically-designed, subconsciously driven entity designed to eliminate sentient life in a slow, painful spiral designed to cause conflict could be bored.

 

**//SubclassEntity//Aggressor >//PrimaryEntity//Warrior - Query:Access Alternative Multiplicity?**

**-GRANTED-**

 

She(it) bounced a few signals of of Entity prime(designation//Zion), and through him accessed Shard//Designation//Route, and through said shard reached into Shard//Designation//Sting, and through that...

 

Everything.

 

The one-year old girl named Lily shifted in her sleep, but soon went back to slumber.

 

The Simurgh was... no longer bored. As a matter of fact, it was quite excited, as much so as said being could be.

 

The possibilities were... endless.

 

The cause for her(its) boredom was a lack of things to do. She had recently engaged in all of the possibilities that she could for her set cycle of interaction, and the next chance for her to nudge things off(or on) track wouldn’t be for approximately 2.643 rotations.

 

The cause for her excitement...

 

Well. Madison was one of the last times she(it) had been excited. Will be excited? Was going to be excited?

 

Precognition was confusing, if you bothered to deal with things such as past or present tense.

 

**//SubclassEntity//Aggressor// - Query > Transfer //SubclassEntity// ‘Human’ //MultiplicityAlpha//?**

**-DEVIATION-**

**//Explaination:Fullfilment//DirectivePrime//Conflict - Enhance Shard//Designation//Shaper - Enhance Shard//Designation//Administrator**

A millisecond of silence, as Zion thought. At times like this, Entity//Warrior wished that he(it) had Entity//Thinker to make choices for him(it).

 

**-QUERY-DEGREE?-**

**//Multiplicity//Degree - Difference - 1003241**

 

He(it) paused, thinking a moment longer. A degree of difference that large meant that neither entity Warrior or Thinker were present in those dimensions, and as such neither were their shards. Was there a separate entity present in said dimensional branch?

 

**-QUERY-ENTITY?-**

**//Negative// - Information//EntitySubclassAggressorDeviant//ShardIncapable//Sentient//Aggressive**

 

That was about as far as his(it) thinking power went, unfortunately for Zion.

 

**-AGREEMENT-**

 

His(it) thought process registered Entity//Aggressor//Third as part of Eden, and Eden and he(it) had the same primary directive.

 

Never once did the thought cross his(its) mind that the possession of Shard//Aggressor//Control changing hands could have changed the primary directive. And it hadn’t, not really.

 

The primary directive - Conflict - and secondary directive - Enhancement//Shard remained the same. The Aggressors would continue to do as they were made to - spark conflict between themselves and the bearers of the Shards, and passively influence the world in ways designed to enhance the shards.

 

There were no other objectives.

 

Or, at least, there had not been.

 

Directive//Tertiary had been added by the subconscious desires of the bearer of Shard//Access.

 

The directive was simple, and didn’t clash with the other two.

 

Edelion wanted to fight//conflict//, he wanted to grow//enhance//, and he wanted to be a hero//Undefined//.

 

Directive//Tertiary//Undefined -PreventExpirationOf‘Humanity.’ Or, in simple terms, prevent the extinction of the species that presided upon the world below her. The fact that this objective was parallel to the objective of Entity//Warrior was of no consequence to her(it). Eidolon wanted to be a hero, to save the world. And, indirectly through her(it), he would.

 

She(it) reached into another world, picked the expiration of two ‘humans,’ and pulled. She(it) grasped ahold of the neural network that made up their sentience, and paused, briefly.

 

The Simurgh glanced down at the consciousnesses as her(its) power traced copies of said neural networks. Such small, fragile little things. A flicker of her hand, and they would cease to exist. A pulse of her mind, and they would embed themselves into Shards soon to bud, and change the world in immeasurable ways.

 

If she had had lips, she would have smiled. Years upon years upon years - both time that had passed, would pass, and would never pass - and every single thought that had ever come from every entity she focused on in each of those moments had impressed an... understanding, of the human thought process into her.

 

Humans. Such interesting, fragile, wonderfully complicated creatures. Incredibly weak from an evolutionary and technological standpoint - but millions of times ahead morally and socially than she and the //Entities// would ever be.

 

She(it) pulsed her mind, locking the neural networks into place, then embedding them in the two separate shards, and placed a few thoughts into several human minds.

 

Marquis, the honorable crimelord of Brockton Bay, felt a stirring of attraction to a young woman of asian descent who he had ignored previously, as he tended to when women threw themselves at him in an attempt to catch his attention.

 

Said asian woman happened to ovulate at the optimal time - and an additional egg was created and inseminated.

 

The second network was implanted into Shard//Designation//Administrator, to be activated at a later date, far into the future.

 

She felt pleasure.

 

Then, she(it) began to descent from orbit, and graced a small town in central Brazil with her(its) song and slaughter. They had begun to build a weapon that had slight risks of damaging her(its) kin, and that simply wouldn’t do.

 

And Derivative//Tertiary was satisfied.

 

\-----

 

One thing that most people outside of Brockton Bay tend to forget is the gangs.

 

Oh, sure, they recognize the fact that there are gangs there - the ABB, the Merchants, and the Empire 88 - but they don’t really... register it, you know? The fact that there are gangs is something they acknowledge - but it tends to be glossed over, unless you live there.

 

They think that these are cape-led gangs, so they must only fight each other and the Protectorate. They think ‘oh, Brockton Bay is just a Villian Vs. Villian Vs. Hero fight, and everyone else just sits back and watches.

 

I have to sit with my hood up on the bus and wear ratty clothes or else the ABB will attempt to accost me for being a 'Little white girl in our town' and not paying them ‘travel fare.’ It happened once - I learned not to do it again.

 

The smell of sweat and smoke on their jackets, the loud, grating voice, the ‘gentle’ pushing and shoving -

 

The fear. The knowledge that there are people around - noonewillhurtmeinpublicpeoplearewatching - but then you notice the fact that no one is doing anything. They’re glancing over their shoulders, sure, but only to make sure that they wont be the next targets.

 

Then the korean boy(he went to your school but don’t mention that, he got expelled and _youdontwanthimangry_ ) shifts slightly, and his jacket runs up his side and you see the glint of black metal and ohgodhehasagunohgodohgod and you can hear your heart in your ears and smell the alcohol on his breath and feel his hand on your shoulder and know that you could die oh god you could die and no one would care no one would even move no one would -

 

I handed over the money, and started making sure that my outfits included hoods and at least three days of dirt when I went to the seedier areas of town.

 

Because I had to go to the seedier areas of town. Because that was where the docks were, and that was where I could practice.

 

_Thinking lovely thoughts again, Taylor. I still say we could have taken them._

 

“Shut up, sandy.” I mutter under my breath. “You and I both know that the integration was way, way, way too early to even attempt to do anything of the sort.”

 

_You mean you still thought that you were insane._

 

“Not entirely convinced otherwise, to be honest.” I muttered under my breath. A young man - Merchants, judging by the colors of his clothes and the smell - glanced back at me, before turning away.

 

Just another crazy, homeless girl on the bus. Nothing to see here.

 

“Voices in your head make wonderful self-defense mechanisms.”

 

There was a soft scoffing noise, almost like laughter - as much as he ever laughed.

 

_You have no idea._

 

The rest of the ride passed in relative silence, only the purring of the motor beneath the steel skeleton of the bus and the soft murmur of conversation filling my ears. I traced little lines on the seat in front of me, marking of kanji and other symbols that he had taught me, lacking only ink and blood to be useful.

 

“Fifth and Boardwalk.” Came the voice of the driver, over the speakers.

 

My stop.

 

So to speak.

 

“Eyes on us?”

 

_None, Taylor. Now remember - visualization, intent, and energy - in that order._

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

 

I pressed my fingers into a shape under my jacket, both hands coming together in ways that made my joints ache slightly. Not as bad as they had when I first started, but still the slight ache remained.

 

The end symbol reminded me of the old gang signs that people used to make jokingly in school.

 

He assured me that it was the symbol for ‘ram,’ and who was I to argue with a world leader?

 

I fixed the sight of my ‘base’ in my mind - a space below the lower ends of the boardwalk, where the tide hadn’t come up to in many years. Lots of trash, rotted wood, noise to cover up any training, and most importantly...

 

Sand.

 

Intent - I wanted to be there. I wanted to go there. I was there.

 

Energy...

 

With a whirl of brown particles, the energy - chakra, as he called it(I still thought of monks and crazy airbenders when he said that, not ninjas and demonic monsters) - fixed my intent into the visualization, and simply remove the obstacles in the way. The only thing left on my seat were a few flecks of sand, that would be dismissed as dirt and ignored.

 

He told me that the Shunshin was less of a teleportation and more of a fixed-line time warp, which simply made it so you moved removed the ‘time’ aspect of moving to a different space. With enough skill and proper mental training, you could speed up the way in which you perceived the world in order to control the movement as it happened.

 

I told him that would probably work better in a world where the baseline for humanity was a little under ‘Triumvirate’ levels of energy, not ‘most of us have trouble jogging three blocks.’

 

Which was where the training came in, apparently.

 

I felt a sudden drain on my internal ‘reserves,’ as if I had sprinted a short distance - not enough to make moving impossible, but I was winded a small amount.

 

 _Now, do the stretches I gave you and rest for a few minutes to recover - your chakra pathways are still remarkably small, but growing very fast for how long you have had them - and in five minutes I’ll have a new jutsu to teach you._ I could almost feel the smirk through his voice... or, well, the slight, fractional quirk of the edge of his lips, at least. It should be educational... for the both of us.

 

“You really have a whole schedule planned out for me, don’t you? You sure you weren’t a teacher in your last life?” I hitched my leg up, grabbing linking my hands under my knee, then raised my leg until I could feel ligaments screaming in a pain that had become routine, if not even familiar in the last couple weeks. I then let go of my leg, and leaned out until my torso made a right angle between my legs - read em and weep, Olympic gymnasts.

 

He scoffed. _I would have loved to have been. But in between ruling a small city, becoming a public figurehead and world power at age 16, marshaling a group of hundreds of elite assassins and soldiers, and fighting a small group of said assassins hell-bent on sucking a demon out of me in order to end the world -_

“I still can’t get over how easily you refer to ‘demons inside of me’ in a conversation.”

 

 _Endbringers, Nilbog, Alexandria, Siberian, Scion, Panacea_ \- He listed off. All things that seemed normal(ish) in my world, but completely impossible(without chakra at least) in his.

 

“Touche.”

 

_In between all of that and my eventual untimely demise, I really didn’t get much of a chance to lead a team of my own._

He paused for a moment, and I sighed as I went into a full split - and then oversplit. Which hurt like a bitch, but jesus if I wasn’t proud. I had had trouble touching my toes not even a month ago.

 

“Sorry to bring up bad memories.” I muttered, feeling guilty.

 

_It is fine, Taylor. All shinobi are prepared to deal with death in their lives. I... Just... still need to get used to my own._

_Now, time for that Jutsu..._

 

I pulled out of the full backbridge I had been doing, feeling a mix of excitement and fear.

 

Excitement, because the last jutsu I learned taught me to bend the fabric of space-time and teleport.

 

Fear, because in the process of learning that Jutsu, sometimes I ran into wood posts at the speed of sound, or ended up half-submerged in sand, with my arms trapped to my side.

 

The sand at my side began to swirl as he pressed his consciousness into it. It began to grow dense and take form, first making a pair of legs, clad in black, woolen pants, with the bottoms of the pants bandaged with white cloth, leading into a pair of plain sandals. Then a torso, with the same black cloth, only with a white sash slung lengthwise across his front, holding up a ridiculously massive gourde slung across his back.

 

The figure finished off with a deathly pale face framed with dark, blood-red hair and black-circled eyes. The kanji for ‘Love’ was colored(branded, by himself when he was six- notthathetoldmebutIcouldn’thelpbutSEE) onto his forehead, right above his left eye.

 

He smiled at me.

 

“Hello, Taylor.”

 

I smiled back, and bowed slightly. “Hello, Gaara.”

 

(---)

 

The human known as Kenneth Dallon(Kim, to friends - not that he has many) remembers a life before this life.

 

He remembers parents before this woman who he must call mother(not that Carol has acted as anything other than an enemy, not that he has treated her as anything else). Parents who hated him, much as she did. Who feared him, who locked him in a cage and left him to do their bidding, only letting him out to fight, to cut, to bleed, to kill.

 

Much as Carol Dallon does to him. She locks him in a cage(with eyes and promises and words, but still a cage - ‘don’t use your power, don’t mention your father, make sure to smile and wave to the cameras.’

 

He remembers being a tool, a weapon(the cape known as ‘Kimimaro’ must never be seen openly cooperating with New Wave, but we would still like you to help with...)

 

He remembers a boy he called brother(Juugo, do you miss me? I never got to say goodbye), who loved him with everything he had, because he was all he had left. He remembers going off to war, and not coming back, leaving his friend locked in a cage that Juugo begged to be locked in.

 

He knows a girl he calls sister, who he loves and protects with everything he has, because he will not let another sibling down. Amy, sweet Amelia, who has the power to rule nations, but doesn’t want to hurt, only wants to heal. So he keeps her safe when she will not fight, keeps her sane when Victoria’s aura(much like a genjutsu, and he was used to those) threatens to tear her apart.

 

He remembers battle, and servitude, and blood and bone and most of all he remembers dying, alone and knowing he had failed the only real father figure he had ever had. Orochimaru-Sama, I have failed. The man who freed him from those who wanted to call him family when all they said was weapon, who gave him home and reason and power in exchange for loyalty.

 

He remembers another man, who called him son, who he was proud to call father, for the few short years they knew each other before New Wave came and tore them apart.

 

He remembers Marquis.

 

So Kimimaro trains, and hardens his bones, and tries to pretend to be the good son to parents that know he isn’t. He protects his sister with everything he has, and that is a lot.

 

And he waits, and trains, and plans for the day when his father(Marquis, the man who showed him that honor and rules could be power, the man who healed a broken soul and left him with one order and one order only.)

 

He remembers when Brandish and Lady Photon and Manpower broke into the safety of their home, and held his sister hostage. He remembers a dishonorable victory, as they broke the rules they had followed in order to gain glory they did not deserve - striking into his home and safe place, and taking his leader away from him.

 

He remembers his master(father)s words to him, as he let himself be cuffed and chained and dragged off to the cage none could escape.

 

“Protect your sister, Kim. I believe in you.”

 

He remembers being given purpose.

 

He remembers.

 

Sitting on his bed, he flexes his arm, watching as spikes of bone sprout from his elbow, harder than diamonds and sharp as the thinnest knives. He nods to his sister, as she practices taking the bone and making it something more, something beautiful - making life out of nothing.

 

She smiles at him, knowing that this power causes him pain every time he uses it, but knowing that he would be glad to do it until he bled out if it pleased her.

 

“I love you, aniki.” She mutters, and he meets her eyes with something that, if was anyone else but him, could be called a smile.

 

“And I, you, Amelia.”

 

They don’t need more than that.

 

(---)


	2. Kenneth Dallon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Worm or Naruto.
> 
> I'm not good enough of a writer to lay claim to the masterpiece that is Worm, and I'm not desperate enough to lay claim to Naruto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a notice - I have zero clue where this story is headed, and a bad record of incomplete fanfictions. This is the brainchild of random thought about 'hey, Kimimaro and Marquis have the same powers kinda' and my muse took over from there.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Mostly Kimimaro in this chapter, with some Amy snark and a little bit of Danny angst.

The school is... Different. From everything Ken remembers from his past life. Different in many ways(important ways), but same in so many more.

 

The closest thing he has in his past is the memory of patrolling Orochimaru-sama’s hidden laboratories. There are hallways that jut off into every which direction, doors that lead to gatherings of groups for specialized purposes, and most of the people there are there by necessity, not choice.

 

But the doors don't lead to separate labs and holding cells, and the halls are filled with non-combatants. The people there are not under his command(or thumb), and he doesn’t get to remove the heads of people who annoy him.

 

And they are hear to ‘learn.’ This vaguely resembles the time he had to infiltrate the Villiage Hidden in the River’s academy under genjutsu to capture an interesting bloodline for Orochimaro-sama. The same vaguely bored attitude, the teachers who know they wont be appreciated, the students who learn things that are almost entirely irrelevant to the real world.

 

But that was two weeks, and this is the undertaking of years. 

 

And this one will end in a silly ceremony and passing out a paper he will promptly burn, and the last one ended with him ripping the head off of his target because full exfiltration would be to complicated.

 

He’s not sure which one he would prefer.

Being surrounded by children so naive is... Uncomfortable, to be honest.

The morning starts out in comfortable routine. He wakes up at exactly 0430 hours, making sure that his breathing is still low and steady as he assesses the local area to ensure lack of hostiles.

 

He remains in bed for a further 15 minutes, planning out the day and assessing what he should add or eliminate from his daily routine(no need to condition his hair, he did so yesterday, maybe adding an extra five minutes to his daily jog will allow him to scope out a little farther into E88 territory, that boy in Amelia’s English class was staring at her yesterday, further study reveals he spends lunch alone on the roof - a good time to... talk... to him). This is something that he was used to doing for most of both of his lives, although it changed throughout the years.

 

For example, if this was Orochimaru’s laboratory, he would be planning on which subordinates needed to be executed and which prisoners needed more... physical therapy to remain inside their designated stations.

 

At 0445 hours, he quietly(ninja-sneaky, as Amelia refers to it) climbs out of bed and runs a cold shower for exactly five minutes, then dries and dresses in the span of two minutes. He then shakes Amelia awake(from a distance with a pole - she does not wake up well), then heads downstairs to make breakfast for three.

 

Eggs, bacon and toast for Victoria, poppyseed bagel for Amelia, three sausage links, two rashers of bacon, eight slices of toast, four eggs(one raw while the rest cooked) and two quarts of milk for him.

 

His blood limit requires a lot of sustenance in order to prevent it from cannibalizing his muscle reserves. Something which caused the initial sickness that killed him in his past life - a childhood of starvation, coupled with almost nonstop battle forced his bloodline to eat away at his inner organs. Which means he ate a lot of protein.

 

And he liked milk.

 

Victoria’s alarm goes off at 0515 hours - a mix of loud crashing and needless noise she calls ‘rap music.’

 

He’s more of an old-school hard rock fan himself. 

 

One thing this world definitely has over his old one - entertainment is miles ahead than his world ever came close to. 

 

Amelia is downstairs and eating exactly five minutes after Victoria’s alarm goes off, dressed, hair drying and wrapped in a towel. He has already finished his meal - something that disturbs Victoria every time she sees him eat a meal that big that fast - and smiles to her as she begins her breakfast, as he begins to clean up the dishes.

 

He hears the shower turn off about the time that he finishes the dishes, and moves to finish toweling off Amelia’s hair before braiding it in a long, complicated plait that falls down her back to her waist. 

 

About the time that he finishes his sister’s hair, Victoria comes downstairs, yawning deeply.

 

“I’ll be back soon, Amelia.” He says, pressing his lips to the back of her head. She lifts her hand up behind her, running her hand through his hair(he feels aches he didn’t know he had disappear, micro-fractures from last nights training healing in instants, but they both know not to mention it at this point), a familiar ritual.

 

“Don’t hurry.” She mutters, and turns to him with a smile.

 

Back when Ken was Kimimaro, and Kimimaro was just ‘boy,’ he wished deeply for a sibling to share his life with. Someone to share his days with - someone, anyone to talk to, someone he could cherish and protect and give his every waking hour to just so he didn’t have to be so Kami-Damned alone.

 

When the boy became Kimimaro, he found a father in Orochimaru, and a brother in Jugo - poor, naive Jugo, who didn’t want to hurt a fly but could destroy countries in a rage. 

 

He had devoted his life to the man he saw as father - Orochimaru - and his love to his brother.

 

When Kimimaro became Ken, he simply shifted the devotion over to more suitable people. Marquis became the father to whom he pledged sword and blood, and Amelia was the sister who had his heart.

 

He smiles back, and is glad for every day he wakes up not alone.

 

I would die for you. He had told her once, when he had jumped in front of a bullet when a member of the Empire had attempted to eliminate the ‘dirty half breed freak’ of New Wave. It stood true to this day.

 

He did a few stretches, then did a lap around the block, making sure that no one he didn’t know was around the neighborhood. People were known to camp out around their house - people who needed healing but didn’t want to wait for the list, paparazzi, occasional rubberneckers or well-wishers.

 

He usually... persuaded them to leave. As the over-protective twin brother of Panacea, of course, not as the rouge cape Kimimaro. Which meant that the persuasions had more silent glares than he would have prefered, and not enough stabbing.

 

After three laps around the neighborhood, he took off at a sprint, feeling his muscles ache and his heart pound in his chest. It was a ridiculous pace for an average human, but Ken was no such thing. Muscles enhanced with chakra and bones tougher than steel meant his body could take a much harder beating for much longer than anyone else could.

 

His jog took him to the corner of Fifth and Kensingway, then he took a sharp right and ducked into an alleyway, cutting behind the shops of Little Brockton(the older part of the city, back when the bay was a small little port town), and through that the area known as ‘8th Avenue,’ as the E88 territory was called. The Medhall building was a stark contrast to the downrun and dingy wooden buildings that made up the old city, a pillar of glass and steel.

 

Nine of the Empires thirteen capes worked day jobs in there - the four not there being Purity, Fog, Night, and Rune - who was a student at Immaculata, if he was correct.

 

‘Unwritten rules’ were just that - rules.

 

Kimimaro wasn’t very good at following them.

 

He placed one foot on the wall in front of him, then pressed down, feeling brick and mortar strain as he ran up the wall at the exact same pace he had run into the alley at. Bone armor sprouted around him as he did, his sweatpants and hoodie covered by scaled bones that fell down his back in a mockery of his old robe. His face was covered by a white, mostly-blank mask, only his two eyes standing out in sharp relief - bright red instead of his normal grey. Amelia had doctored him two ‘contacts’ out of his bone structure that covered his eyes, giving him and his identity and flimsy layer of protection.

 

Because honestly, no one else his age had white hair, and he really didn’t go to lengths to hide it. Carol had attempted to get him to cover his hair when he went out, but he refused vehemently.

 

Jugo liked my hair. 

 

He had heard that his mask - mouthless, with two curling horns above his head that streamlined to the back of his skull, and his eyes peering out from within - made him known to be ‘Oni-Lee’s twin.’

 

Not that he minded the comparison. Oni-Lee was a formidable foe, and rarely gave him cause to fight him. The few times they had were more along the lines of spars - Kimimaro’s expert training and reflexes were a good counterpoint to Lee’s teleportation and cloning. His bones made a good defense to the suicide attacks his clones tended to resort to.

 

He was reminded of an annoying boy dressed in orange who used similar tactics, minus the whole ‘actually being good at combat’ aspect.

 

God, he hated clones sometimes.

 

The ABB tended to leave him and Amelia well enough alone, and their attacks against New Wave were always to the level of aggression the family-based heroes attacked them with. Lung and his sycophants respected them, partially because Panacea healed all who passed her by, and partially because of their japanese descent.

 

Not that you could tell that Amelia had a drop of asian blood in her - other than a vague shaping of her eyes and the straight, silky dark-brown of her hair there were no indicators.

 

Well, other than the fact that she spoke fluent japanese, and her twin brother tended to slip into attaching suffixes to people's names when meeting strangers.

 

He kept a careful eye out from his perch on the top of a four-story apartment complex, eyeing the nearby areas for movement. The sun was just now rising, and he used the light to both blind anyone who would want to look up at him, and scan the areas between Arcadia High and his current perch.

 

As he did daily. If there was going to be any attack on Amelia, it would come from the E88, so he made damn sure to identify any possible hostiles they might pass within a quarter mile of on their flight.

 

Victoria would carry Amy to school, as Amy enjoyed not having to ride the bus. He would follow - slower, granted - on rooftop, until he reached a quarter mile from the school. Then he would meet up with them, and they would walk the rest of the distance together.

 

This route was partially because Victoria struggled to carry them both, and partially because Kimima- Ken hated flying under someone else’s power.

 

He sighed internally, body still as stone but eyes moving rapidly as he catalouged and dismissed threats(drunk skinhead, near possible route, unarmed, non-entity; Victor, driving to Medhall, armed(always), possible threat; possible drug deal 2.2 clicks from route, will engage prior to liftoff from home).

 

He tensed his legs under him, and wound up to spring off of the building.

 

As an old habit, he let out a pulse of mild chakra, looking to find any chakra presences in the area. This never worked, unfortunately - no one in this world had chakra, which had confused him greatly at first. Chakra sensing was a cornerstone of his tactics, and the loss of it made his excursions mildly more difficult. He could use it to ‘tag’ people with his own chakra after fights, but it only lasted for an hour at most. The lack of natural chakra in this world had nearly quadrupled his sensory range, but that was pointless when there was nothing to sense.

 

So when he received a small ping on his ‘sonar,’ he nearly fell off of his building in surprise.

 

His head snapped to the location(three point six miles away, towards the shore - near the docks, residential area). The signature was unfamiliar and clearly unrestrained - due to inexperience or the fact that the user thought they were the only one chakra-capable, he wasn’t sure.

 

Ken desperately wants to sprint over there, to observe and find out, to see if he’s not alone, if its someone he knows(JugopleaseJugoIneverGotToSayGOODBYE), but in the corner of his eyes he sees a bright shape rising up from the ground near his house. Victoria and Amelia.

 

He presses his hands into his palms so hard they draw blood, but turns away from the chakra signature - even as is withers and hides, back to obscurity. 

 

He desperately wants to not be alone.

 

But he remembers his sister, not that she ever leaves his mind, and knows that he isn’t.

 

Amelia first.

 

Always.

 

(---)

 

The rest of the day passes as normally as it usually does. He arrives at school, he on Amelia’s left side, Victoria on her right. Glory Girl is the bright, talkative social butterfly, Amelia is the quiet, shy-but-strong girl with a wit of steel hidden under a soft shell, and he is silent and unapproachable.

 

Victoria holds court in the cafeteria before class starts, queen of the social ladder. People - girls mostly, and a few, hopeless boys who flock to her like moths to a flame - crowd around her. She revels in it, basks in their attention. Her aura(like a variable killing intent - teetering between heart-stopping fear and jaw-dropping affection) is on the lowest setting it can go to without turning off. Basically a ‘pay attention to me’ signal to anyone within 15 feet - not that she needed its help to get their attention.

 

He and Amelia and a few of the wards(Chris, Dennis and Missy) sit at the table, making small talk. Well, Amelia does. He just nods on occasion and sometimes glares at people who come too close.

 

It’s times like these that he wishes Shadow Stalker - the one Ward he can understand most of the time - went to Arcadia instead of Winslow. But she was on probation because her methods of capture tended to lean a little closer to ‘violent, occasionally deadly’ than the PRT approved of.

 

Which was stupid. Who cares if a criminal loses an arm or a leg or a life? The second they broke the rules they were free game - even if he didn’t really agree with the rules. 

 

Honestly. Who cares if a bunch of people want to group up and hate each other, or waste their lives on drugs they know will kill them?

 

That, more than the whole ‘obviously Marquis 2.0’ thing, was the major reason why Carol refused to let him be part of New Wave. His methods tended to range from ‘slightly mutilated’ to ‘severely maimed,’ not that sprouting blades of bone could make you anything less than lethal.

 

Not that he cared about her rules. He would be around Amelia, always, no matter what Carol had to say.

 

The bell rings, and they leave to head to class. Ken walks next to Amelia, and Dennis is on her left - they have the same first class.

 

Technically, he has world studies right now, but he follows Amelia to every class  
but after two years of him ignoring schedules, teachers not giving him work, attempts at suspending him for disrespecting authority, detentions he didn’t go to, and a mandatory session with the school’s guidance counselor, they’ve figured to just leave him be.

 

No way in hell is he leaving Amelia without a dedicated protector in hostile territory. Which, in his opinion, is anywhere that isn’t their bedroom.

 

The meeting with the school counselor that one day had been... strange. The man was respectable, in that he didn’t attempt to make assumptions and only asked him one question.

 

Mr. Derrique had been seated in a chair, and Ken seated on the edge of a couch in the office.

 

“Mr. Dallon.” He had began. He had brown hair that was beginning to go grey, with a large forehead created by a receding hairline. His square, wire-rimmed glasses had been balanced on the end of his nose, and he looked through them at Ken.

 

“Could you please explain to me why you refuse to attend your classes, and insist on following your sister to all of hers?” He said, eyeing Ken with brown eyes. They seemed larger, somehow, through the lense of his glasses. 

 

“I assure you, your sister is just as safe in the halls of Arcadia as she is in your own home - if not more so.”

 

Kimimaro had taken a brief second to deliberate and think about that, before shaking his head.

 

He had told Mr. Derrique, in simple and informative terms, exactly why he needed to follow his sister and made sure she was safe. About how the woman he called mother and the man he called father had stolen them from their own homes, as they ate dinner and were happy. How they had held his sister hostage against the two of them(He, who had already ‘triggered’ - as if he could ever forget the feel of weapons and bone and power under his very skin, and his father, who wielded the same weapons, albeit in a different fashion), threatening harm upon her in exchange for their fathers freedom.

 

He explained about how his sister had forgotten their father(they were only three at the time, but he had an additional seventeen years of life prior to that), but he had not. How his father had made him promise to keep his sister safe, and how he made sure that he did - his plans and schedules that revolved around her, his training that drove him to break his body in immeasurable ways, the way she never left his thoughts, and nearly never left his sight.

 

Obsession? Maybe. Paranoia? Likely. 

 

Love? 

 

Definitely.

 

He explained how they were ‘adopted’ into the family - “Conquering nations have always made sure to secure the minds of the youth, in order to secure their own forces in the future. Carol said something about ‘saving us from our pasts,’ or ‘being better than our parents.’ Ruthless, but commendable.” - raised to be heros, while watched with glares and kept under careful vigilance, incase they ‘went bad.’ He talked about how Carol refused to acknowledge them as family, about how she represented them as ‘my daughter, Victoria - and Ken and Amy.’ 

 

About how Carol yelled at him when he tried to discuss his father, about how she threatened to have him separated from his sister if he continued to refer to himself by his real last name.

 

About how Carol flinched every time he called his sister Amelia and not Amy.

 

Mr. Derrique didn’t have any questions after that.

 

And, after a short discussion with the principal(and Child Protective Services and the Youth Guard, not that Ken was supposed to know that), he didn’t have a job, either.

 

The school day was boring and uninformative, lunch was another show of Victoria’s impressive social skills(not that her charisma could even touch Marquis’s or Orochimaru-Sama’s), and Dennis had several attempts to make Ken laugh.

 

He failed, but the effort was appreciated.

 

And seeing Amelia fall out of her chair from laughter was pleasant - she was far too high-strung some days. Honestly.

 

The last two classes of the day were cut short when the Wards were called out for some sort of altercation - the ABB and E88 had gotten into a scuffle at the boardwalk, and the Wards were needed to subdue the foot soldier while the Protectorate dealt with the capes.

 

Victoria had flown out the doors(one of the very few benefits of not having a secret identity - use of powers in public), headed for home for a costume change, while he and Amelia headed to Fugly Bobs for food.

 

Three Challengers(for him) and one salad(for her) later, Ken looked across the table at his sister.

 

It was a Tuesday, which meant that she would not be going to the hospital today. She had two days out of the week off, at his insistence - if she had had her way, she would practically live at the hospital.

 

Ken didn’t like the hospital. Too many unknowns, too much chance for hostilities, and the doctors tended to disapprove of his attendance as Kimimaro - something about his outfit and insistence on checking each and every room for weapons before Amelia entered as ‘detrimental to the patients.’

 

Foolishness.

 

“Amelia.” He began. She looked up at him, eyes questioning.

 

“Yes, Ken?” She raised a straw to her mouth, drinking her cola deeply. He hated the stuff, to be honest - caffeine was a crutch.

 

“I recently discovered the presence of another chakra user somewhere about a kilometer and a half from the south-west of our residence.”

 

He idly wondered why she was having difficulty drinking. If it persisted, he may have to engage in CPR - ah, she was coughing, good.

 

“Ken, what did I say about talking about ninja-stuff in public?” She asked, eyebrow raised.

 

“To not do so.”

 

“Yes. And where are we, Ken?”

 

“In a public resterau... Ah. I did check to ensure that there would be no listeners before I spoke, and cast a mild genjutsu on the table to ensure it seemed as if we were still eating.”

 

Amelia muttered something that sounded like ‘trucking ninja bullsit’ under her breath. He refrained from commenting.

 

She sighed, then took another sip of her coke, before setting it down. “Ok. So. Let me re-affirm some things.”

 

She raised a single finger from her hand, listing off as she did. “One. Your powers are actually a bloodline powered by your chakra.”

 

“Yes. Although, in some circumstances, my bloodline can be activated without chakra, at a detriment to my health.”

 

She glared at him, and he stopped talking. She was good at glares.

 

“You are also a...” She sighed, rubbing her temples. “A reincarnation of a ninja from another world, who was trained to use chakra. You also thought you were the only one.” The look on her face seemed to mean she was thinking ‘what is my life.’

 

“Indeed.”

 

“And.. now you say, after years of searching every day for other charka users - despite me telling you that it was probably never going to happen, that no superninjas were going to attack as we slept, and that it was impossible for another one to show up, you found another person like you?”

 

“Yes.” he paused, before smirking. “I am usually not one to taunt, but I think now may be time to say ‘I told you so.”

 

“I deeply and truly hate you sometimes.”

 

“My apologies.”

 

She sighed. Then drank more cola. Then sighed again.

 

“I’m assuming that you want to go and locate this... chakra signature?” She asked, looking up at him through her hair.

 

“If you are ok with this, yes.”

 

“Kim.” She started, then sighed, running her hands through her hair. “We’ve been over this. You don’t need to check everything with me before you go do it.”

 

He reached out across the table, grabbing her hand in his.

 

“I know.”

 

She stared at him, eyes unreadable, then smiled, sadly.

 

“I’ll be fine staying up until you get back.” She clenched her hand, pressing his hand in hers - squeezing, softly. 

 

“Ok.”

 

They really didn’t need more than that.

 

(---)

 

Danny remembers that when he was five, his mother took him to the Zoo in New York, for his birthday. His father had stayed home - too much work to be done to afford taking a whole week day off. Boats don’t run themselves.

 

He took Dan out very early the next day and let him drive the boat for an hour out in the open sea.

 

He liked it more than the zoo, to be honest. Not that he told his mother that - he had begged for weeks on end to go to the zoo for his birthday, and she had finally agreed. Saying he didn’t like it after all that seemed rude.

 

The zoo had been amazing to his young mind at first. Years before parahumans existed, the most amazing things he could think of were either boats, tigers or dinosaurs. Comic books were too confusing to follow, so superheros were off the list - for now.

 

After two hours in the zoo, he had seen almost all the animals. The lions roars, the alligators tore into a side of beef, the elephants had showered themselves with water - incredible, amazing, wonderful to his eyes.

 

And then they went into the monkey house.

 

The monkey house was a big, big building, with a net over the top of them when they walked through. There were trees and vines and wooden bridges, and monkeys of all shapes and sizes from wall to wall, swinging and screeching and playing and yelling.

 

It also - as Danny found out, the second they entered - smelled like shit.

 

Literal shit. The stench of bad body odor, of vomit, of piss and shit - a smell that hit him with an eye-watering force that made him nearly retch.

 

When he tried to leave, his mother grabbed him by the arm and took him further in. She ignored him when he talked about the smell, and pointed out the different kinds of monkeys and after three or four minutes, he forgot about the smell entirely, and laughed as the monkeys played and yelled and screeched.

 

Fifteen minutes after they entered, he stopped, and tugged on his mother's sleeve. “Mommy, why don’t the monkeys smell anymore?”

 

She smiled down at him. “Well, sometimes when things are bad - smell bad, or taste bad, or happen bad - people can make themselves forget about them, or get used to them. So that way bad things don’t stop them. It still smells bad, Danny - just breath through your nose and think ‘I’m going to smell the monkey house.’”

 

He did, and promptly vomited in a trash can nearby.

 

He didn’t ask to go to the zoo again - animals weren’t as cool as Dads boat was.

 

He never did forget what his mother had told him - it stayed through him all his life.

 

Shortly after his parents died, he stopped noticing their absence and carried on - he had to get through life somehow.

 

When the dock withered and died and his job got harder, the hours longer, and money shorter - he accepted, got around it, and life went on.

 

When Annette(god, Anne, I miss you) died, it took a little longer. The bed was a little larger, the blankets a little colder, the house a little quieter. Taylor smiled a little less, and he drank a little more.

 

But life went on.

 

And when Taylor came home from the hospital, and started waking up screaming in the middle of the night - 

 

Well. 

 

He started setting his alarm for 3:30 in the morning, and standing outside her door until she woke up. It was part of life, now.

 

She came home a little later during the day, missed dinner sometimes, and didn’t talk about school. She started jogging, took up martial arts classes, lost fat and gained muscle, and spent more time at the ‘library’ most days after school. He wasn’t a fool - she was out doing something else besides reading. Joined a gang, started doing drugs, something she didn’t want to tell him about.

 

Not that he had room to talk. He spent more time drinking than not, and calling his group of friends when he was younger a ‘gang’ was pretty on the nose.

 

So he ignored the dark circles under her eyes, ignored the cuts and scrapes on her knuckles. Ignored how her clothes got tighter as she grew into her form, ignored how she stopped wearing baggy clothes in grey and brown and started buying tight shirts and jeans.

 

And then his alarm went off at 3:30(he had been awake and staring at it for almost an hour now), and grabbed a cup of cold coffee and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the screaming to start.

 

It didn’t, and he smiled. He finished his coffee, then went downstairs and pulled out a few boxes he hadn't thought about in years.

In the fifth one was what he was looking for - an old motorcycle helmet, and a uniform to go with it. The uniform of one of Lustrum's enforcers.

He stared at it for a long time.

"No wonder why she became who she is - with parents like us, eh, Annette?" He sat there for a long time, until the sun came up and Taylor turned on the shower.

He should have known better - he wasn’t the only one who could have gotten used to the nightmares.

 

(---)


End file.
